


Prosocial Reciprocity

by SassafrassRex (Serbajean)



Series: When Words Fail [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (Shiro listens to a lot of stuff but IM is… the most accessible to real hoomans), Beware, Drama Llama, Garrison days, Keith listens to Mozart and other DWEMS, STUDY MUSIC, Shiro listens to Infected Mushroom—this is that fic, The famed dead white European males, however he may have just discovered Nickelback, hurricanes and hundred-legged spiders, pre-kerberos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serbajean/pseuds/SassafrassRex
Summary: —fancy-speak for ‘compromise’ (more often in reference to the failure to do so)Honestly, it's amiraclethat Keith and Shiro can share each other's space and get along. Atall.Xpost from Tumblr





	

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring Keith as a drama llama (which is totally canon, Mr. “Voice-crack, freak-out because 'I cradled you in my arms!’”)  
> Keith's lowkey discovery of Nickelback is the doing of the wonderful [Bosstoaster.](http://bosstoaster.tumblr.com/) [(Ao3)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster)  
> 

 

It is a school after all. Keith’s seen more weird study habits than he ever would have guessed at.

“I study while doing laundry. It helps.”

“I study in a closet. Nice and quiet.”

“I listen to the same movie soundtrack on repeat.”

“I need to be upside down.”

He can get behind the soundtrack kid, though. Music seems to be the most common study theme by far. Keith has some of his own and takes it pretty seriously, to be honest.

Without it, studying turns into an exercise of how much he really wants to fall asleep and run away at the same time but  _no_ , he needs to focus but  _damnit_ , his pencil’s dull anyway and his brain won’t shut up about  _everything but this_  and all the better uses for his time and  _Jesus_ , if that guy doesn’t quit smacking his gum, and Keith could be  _anywhere else_ right now! Summer’s ending, he’s remembering every summer he’s ever had and are they  _ever_ going to get that light fixed because the flickering is driving him insane and he could be  _practicing_  right now and oh hey speaking of practicing, he still wants to—but too bad he’s  _here_  instead, listening to gumsmacker—

He’ll be the first one to admit it’s a  _problem._ He’s never had much of a talent for giving a damn about bullshit (and so much of formal education seems to be  _bullshit_ ). His brain’s just a little too… crazy. Like, spiraling-out-into-a-hurricane kind of crazy, which doesn’t ever want to let him get anything done.

So. 

Apply music, cross fingers.

He likes Mozart. He likes some Chopin. He likes  _some_ (only some) Liszt.  _Sometimes_  he likes Bach (one of the few people he knows who does).

Classic, Romantic, Baroque—there’s not much of a common theme there, which kind of bugs him.

But it works. Quiet stuff mostly. Or at least  _focused_  stuff. Calms everything down. Puts a nice, quiet little wall between him and…  everything.

He’s pretty sure he would have snapped and killed somebody by now without it. And he’s  _definitely_ sure he never could have studied worth a damn. Keith’s brain just… likes to get stirred up. Wasn’t kidding when he said  _hurricane_. Like a hurricane that needs to be shoved into a box. Or a tube maybe and pointed in a useful direction.

One day, Keith asks Shiro if he’s ever had that issue. Shiro looks at him like… actually, Keith’s not positive just what that face shape is. But, suffice to say, it would seem that Shiro has  _not_ ever had that problem. Shiro’s problem, according to himself, is that he’s lazy.

Shiro can’t focus on one thing, unless he  _also_ focuses on ten to twelve to a hundred  _other_  things. His only two speeds are either juggling the cosmos, full steam ahead… or sleeping.

Weird.

When Shiro calls himself lazy, Keith’s brain (quite without meaning to) conjures the image of a drowsy spider with a hundred drifting legs. Sleeping. His stomach turns a bit, as he pictures that lazy, lazy spider making its switch to “Full steam ahead.” Keith doesn't have much talent for abstraction, but he thinks it's a pretty apt picture of Shiro's just-this-side-of-scary functionality… 

Too bad that gets his brain stuck on the idea of  _spiders_  and it’s a nightmare, remembering every single—

Ahem. Right, where was he?

Oh. Yes. Keith remembers himself, and points a finger in Shiro's direction, frankly accusing him of inattentiveness. Shiro scrunches his face up and blows a raspberry at him.

Is that disagreement? Or is that just a raspberry for raspberry’s sake?

Fine, whatever.

* * *

On the subject of music, Keith doesn’t actually know any of what Shiro listens to. He  _does_  use it to study (Keith asked) but his taste is probably horrible. Something about mushrooms, which seems like it would be weird. Yves V seems weird. Other people Keith’s never heard of. Shiro says they’re loud. And messy. No, Shiro corrects, they’re not messy, they’re  _complicated._  Just a loud, complicated (Keith resubstitutes  _messy_ ) background for him keep track of. Which, according to Shiro, is exactly what he loves to work with.

Keith thinks he’s an idiot.  _Keith’s_  music is complicated, thank you very much. But not messy. Elegant and calming but not messy (though he just found some new stuff and maybe it’s not so good for studying because there are words in it but he kind of likes it a lot,  _Shiro, do you know this stuff? It’s like,_ And in the air the fireflies, Our only light in paradise, We’ll show the world they were— _hey, where are you going? Shiro? Hey!_ )

Shiro’s music just seems like it must be… well, garbage, honestly.

Keith tells him as much.

Shiro asks him if he’s ever done peyote.

Keith blinks thrice.

“… No?” Unless that’s code for something else. “Why?”

“No reason.”

Shiro’s smiling pleasantly and his fingers are tapping on his armrest only slightly slower than lightspeed.

* * *

Keith likes his music. He’s glad he’s got something that works for him. There’s this one kid he knows who’s a wreck. Loud, obnoxious, bounces off everything. Keith isn’t sure if he  _ever_ gets any work done.

But however well it works, it’s not perfect. Keith has reasonable subjects he’s good at, and stupid subjects he  _sucks at_ , just like everyone else.

Physics, Keith can handle. Keith can  _so_ handle it. Calculus, multivariable calculus. Fine. Analytical mechanics was fine. Magnetism and optics was fine. They were all fine.

-Ish. They were okay.

None of them was  _this_.

This is first aid and physiology  _bullshit_. Because Keith gets to take  _cardiology_ this year, because  _astronauts, right?_ or so say his advisors.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit, Keith fucking _hates_ cardiology.

Wall stress is easy, that’s Laplace. But afterload is supposed to be the same, but its definition is… but that’s TPR! No, but that can’t be TPR, that’s just Ohm’s Law. That’s the most basic fucking—he’s known Ohm's since high school, what the fuck is going on? This makes no sense.

Pointlessly.

 _Why_ does it make no sense? It doesn’t have to. It doesn't _need_ to be complicated, they  _made_ it complicated, and honestly Kieth thinks that's grounds to just sit down and cry. This is easy math… isn't it? It is, it’s just that the dumb terms don’t  _mean_  anything! They just mean what-the-fucking-convoluted-hell-ever the author decides they mean at that particular second in time.

Deep breath.

Wall stress is afterload, but mean aortic pressure  _isn’t_  wall stress, which is determined by the force-length—

Wait, that’s the definition of preload! Fuck, _fuck!_

Keith’s calm takes a definitive hike at that moment. Fucking stamp collectors, these motherfucking goddamn stamp collectors. For all of his headphones’ best efforts, Keith wants to scream and to shred his book into tiny pieces (possibly with his teeth). And then go… somewhere else. Actually, he doesn't have any plans beyond book-shredding.

But instead of indulging any of that, he grips both fists tight for a second. Breathes. Then snaps the book shut loud enough to make himself flinch, and heads off to find Shiro; he took this class before. Which is quite lucky, because Shiro’s probably the only one Keith would willingly go to for help.

Earlier that day, whilst feeling kind of dumb, Keith had asked if he wanted to study together. Shiro had smiled (which had immediately made Keith feel dumber) and said thanks, but no thanks. He gave a laughing reminder about his own study music choices, and how they'd likely prove somewhat less-than-compatible with Keith's.

Keith quirked an eyebrow at that because, um  _headphones?_ Earbuds? They’re this great new invention, for the preservation of a calm work environment?

Shiro laughed like,  _headphones? Foolishness._

Or maybe Keith was projecting? Was that a _foolishness_ laugh?

Whatever.

Keith heads to the stairwell. Shiro’s in the library somewhere. Said he’d be upstairs.

Second floor? Nope. Keith meticulously searches every row of computers and tables.

Third floor? Nope.

Fourth? Ah, bingo.

Shiro’s in one of those private meeting rooms (private, if you ignore the one wall made of glass. Placed to ensure there will be no whatever-the-kids-are-calling-it in the library). He’s got his back facing Keith, turned towards a whiteboard veritably packed. Half of it displays a mess of lists and diagrams and ‘To Be Memorized’s, and the other half is stuffed with cramped equations, not all of which have their conclusions written out. But he'd wager most seem to. Dozens of arrows go in every direction, connecting everything to everything else. Keith remembers drifting spider legs. He looks at the chaotic tableau of Shiro's thought process, and he thinks it promising.

He judiciously navigates tables and bookbags, trying not to accidentally bump anyone. He’s feeling charged, though he doesn't know why, and it makes his steps even more careful than usual. Shiro doesn’t have any earbuds or headphones on. Back still to Keith, he isn’t bobbing his head or anything.

Well, that’s a little annoying. If he wasn’t going to listen to his music, he could have just studied with Keith anyway.

Oh well. Not a big deal. Keith will just pop on in, get his questions answered, get this explained by someone who knows what the fuck is going on (Keith notices a faint thrumming but pays it little mind). He heads up, twists the doorknob,

—And he’s pretty sure the entire library gets physically blown back several feet.

Should have remembered. Those rooms are for meetings, those rooms are _soundproofed._ Like, the  _good_ kind of soundproofed. But if you  _open the door…_

Keith stumbles, reeling at the auditory offense. The base is shaking his heart like it’s  _angry_ with him. In approximately 1.7 second, he counts half a dozen different melody lines (if you can even  _call_  them that) all crisscrossed on top of each other.

What  _is_ this?

Who the  _shit_  listens to this  _shit?_  He grabs at his ear. Is there brain dripping out? Probably. No wonder everyone at rave-music-festival-whatevers is supposed to be high as a kite. They’d never stick around otherwise.

Keith is torn between running away rapidly and staying right here, to clobber Shiro over the head. God, to be playing that. Just… _playing_ it. On purpose. With actual speakers, where any innocent person could drop by and unsuspectingly open the door, to have  _siege_  laid to his ears!

(Keith will personally resent the dulcet tones of "midway-ish through ['The Rat'''](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWoQ9SZBhWs) for ages to come. Shiro will take selective advantage of this. Shiro—who had not taken his phone off of vibrate in _years—w_ ill make 'midway-ish through The Rat' his damn  _ringtone, just_ to be activated when Keith's in the vicinity, _just_ because Shiro is an actual dick.)

Keith’s hand is still wrapped around the doorknob. He swings the door closed, only remembering at the last instant not to slam it.

Sweet relief, the sudden quiet is deafening. His lower lip smashed between his teeth, Keith slowly turns around.

The whole library floor is staring. Awkward.

One of them starts, “That was…”

 _Shitty,_ is what that was, and that had  _better_  be what that kid’s about to say. Keith won’t hear of anything else.

The guy doesn’t bother finishing the thought. Keith tries not to meet anyone’s eyes as he speedwalks the hell out.

He’ll just uhm… figure out physio on his own.

* * *

When it’s working, it’s elegance. When it’s not working, he considers tearing his hair out.

Shiro’s been at this for four and a half hours. He’s had to crank the music up every time his traitorous brain whispered,  _Break soon? Please?_

Nope. Nope, not yet. _Make it work, Shirogane_. Figure out this last one, _then_ there will be a ten-minute break (he made that same promise about the last three, hasn't he? But  _just one more_ somehow kept happening).

But just this one. For real this time. This last one (god, he’s not even halfway finished with it) then a break.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself yet again. “Okay. Not a thing. That’s impossible, that's not a thing. Which you knew already. So instead of that—”

Wait. Why is that not a thing, why is that not an answer? It’s not  _supposed_ to be, which is why you even bother calculating—

Wait.

Wait, that’s bullshit. That’s all wrong.

Shiro tips his head back and scrubs a hand over his eyes. Finish this one. Just finish this one. Retrace steps. Find issue. Find  _why_ it's bullshit.

He hears a faint noise behind him. The music almost drowns it out, but not quite and it’s enough to snag his attention (honestly, there’s just  _never_  enough going on to keep focused). Was that the door shutting? He’s pretty sure he shut it when he first came in here.

Damn, that would be embarrassing if he’s been blaring music with the door cracked this entire time.

He can think of three people who are both a) likely in the building, and b) will likely try to kill him, if he  _has_ in fact, been doing that. One of whom has ( _oh_ _right rightrightright,_  because Floer homology is itself a liar and a cheat and  _that’s_ why this is bullshit—) a birthday coming up and  _don’t forget_. She’ll probably have a few good ideas on what to do about getting Erikson to step off too, he should ask when Jenkins' due date is— _don’t forget, don’t forget,_  there's so much he has to not forget—

But when he turns around, the door’s shut and no one’s there.

On the other side of the glass, he sees the back of Keith’s head flouncing off toward the stairs.

Huh.

Weird.

Shiro turns the music up, yet again. Keep going. Just this last one.

—Which was bullshit. Right. This whole thought process was bullshit.

… 

… What about it was bullshit again?

**Author's Note:**

> Could you infer certain neurotypies from this? Yes, you probably could, for both of them. Do you have to? No you certainly, _certainly_ do not.  
>  Come enjoy the space dorks and laugh at/with/at me on [Tumblr.](http://sassafrassrex.tumblr.com/)


End file.
